Civil War
by yonezuu
Summary: The United States of America has been silent for months- thrown into the midst of a civil war within their nation. The other countries haven't seen Alfred in months, they haven't seen how much he's changed. How much he needs to be fixed. IN PROGRESS.
1. Captured

**These first few chapters are prologue, I don't recommend skipping them. I've been cranking out chapters all day, so sorry if there are mistakes!**

* * *

The United States of America had been in the midst of a civil war for nine months now. The war had forced the country into isolationism. All trades with them had stopped, sending the world market into a recession. Not one big enough to cause an unfixable amount of damage, but the absence was apparent. All the information about the war was by word of mouth through the people. Videos of anarchy and attempts at marshal law circled the internet. People talked about the teargas, the bullets, the senseless crime. Internet was scarce. Any electricity was, really. No one was there to pay the bills. No water, no heat, no air conditioning, no electricity, which meant no internet. People who had contracted with corporations with offices outside the country still had their power, and the good samaritans of society opened their doors to those who needed it. Everyone was helping pay the bills with every last penny in their credit account. It was the least they could do, those few people were saving lives.

When the resistance first made their voices heard, society continued without giving them a second thought. Everyone thought of them as a group that paralleled Anonymous, but it wasn't until their attacks against the governments were too big to conceal did things start getting scary. They had an unbreakable hivemind, communicating only through the postal service at first. Then, when experienced hackers joined their cause, they were able to communicate through encrypted deep-web chats hidden within proxies located in Estonia under big name corporations. Corporations who were too big to monitor every little thing that happened in their cyber network. Eventually, everyone in the resistance could talk freely on these chats without fear. Each one of them with months of code education behind them. No one really knew what the goal was. Their organization ran more like an oligarchy, with the only message coming from the assumed leaders was 'for equality'.

Help from any other government was nonexistent. No one wanted to take sides, and even if they did want to help, the United States had closed its' borders. Unofficial aid from relief groups in Canada were smuggled over the border, or flown in from Alaska or Hawaii, which were the only permitted ships and planes.

* * *

Alfred could no longer walk in the streets in peace. The moment war had been declared by the resistance the nation was taken by the government and put into holding until the war ended. As the government broke apart more and more, Alfred was forgotten about in a cement cell under the pentagon. Nations didn't need to eat or drink as often as normal humans, but they did need those things nonetheless. When both of those things stopped coming; when the shower, the toilet, the water fountain stopped working, Alfred started deteriorating. For the first time in his life, he felt what it was like to live on the baseline energy that came from the country's mere existence. It was the only thing left keeping him alive.

To pass the time Alfred daydreamed about how society was running outside. His gut instinct gave him a rough estimate of daily life, but he didn't know for sure until he saw it. He sat there, waiting for something to happen. Until one day, something did.

It was a usual day for him. Or was it night? He had lost track of time days, months, weeks ago. He was lying in his cot, thinking about what Matthew had been doing this entire time, when the power shut off. And when the power goes out, the cell lock stopped doing it's job.

It took Alfred a few seconds to realize this, but when he did, he jumped out of his cot as quick as he could. Maybe a little too fast, because as soon as he was on his feet, the all too familiar feeling of vertigo washed over him, and he fell over onto his side. After the room had stopped spinning, and he located his glasses that had fallen off during the fall, he slowly got up, and felt around for the door. Walking had gotten increasingly more difficult with the passing time. He was once a husky young man, but now, he was beyond thin. He swam in a shirt that once fit him perfectly, and his pants were held up by a string of fabric Alfred had torn off the bottom of his white T. Once he was out of the room, he placed his hand on a wall and started to follow it. The rough stone was familiar against his hand. It was the same material his cell had been made out of. The texture made him question if he was truly out, but after a few minutes of walking, his suspicions faded. He heard marching all around him. There was quite a few of them in the building. Whether they were government or something else, he wasn't sure. He heard a group approaching from behind. He turned to face them. He was met with five people in SWAT gear carrying rifles. They flashed their flashlights in his face.

"Are you… Alfred? Alfred F. Jones?" One of the frontmen asked the nation.

Alfred cleared his throat and balanced himself. It had been a long time since he talked, and he wasn't sure he had it in him anymore.

"Yes." He managed to croak.

"I'm sorry." The man said. He raised the butt of his gun and hit the side of Alfred's head, knocking him out cold.

* * *

Alfred woke up tied to a chair and blindfolded, with a piece of gauze taped to the side of his forehead. His wound pulsed with a dull pain that made him groan.

"Sir, he's awake." Someone said somewhere in the room.

"Water… please…" Alfred croaked. He heard someone scramble, and the crinkle of a plastic water bottle. The cold bottle pressed his lips and he instinctively drank as much water a possible. He greedily emptied the bottle, leaning back as soon as the water was gone and throwing his head back. He felt the water slosh around in his stomach, making him feel sick. The nausea won him over, and he bent forward and threw up the water he had just consumed. He tried to get his feet out of the mess he had just made, but he found his ankles were bound the the chair legs.

Alfred stay bent over, stuck in a coughing fit that rattled his frame. A hand came from behind and rubbed him back caringly until the fit had passed.

Human touch.

He had missed it so much.

He had missed life, he had missed his friends, his home, everything that was familiar to him. He missed it all. The coughing turned into sobs. Pure sadness filled his chest. The familiar feeling that he had fallen asleep to for so long returned in its' fullest power. The tears soaked his blindfold and snot that he couldn't even wipe away rolled down his face. The hand's body moved around and positioned itself in front of Alfred. His blindfold was removed, and the room was showcased to him. The hand had belonged to a young girl, probably in her early 20's. Older than Alfred's projected age, wearing a tight, long sleeve black shirt and loose grey sweatpants. She looked at Alfred with a worried expression. She wiped his face with the rage that was used to cover his eyes. His sobbing had calmed down, turning into ragged breathing, but the tears still flowed with vigor. His eyes felt heavy from crying as he sat up and looked at the girl. She sucked in a deep breath and came closer to him. And eventually, her arms were wrapped around him, comforting him.

"I'm sorry this is happening to you. I don't know anything, but I know we need you for our cause. May karma repay you one day."

The girl looked behind Alfred and nodded slowly before walking out of the room. One she left, he felt a strong hand grab the back of this chair and forcefully turned him around. His eyes met with the man now sitting across from him. A table separated the two of them. Details swam in his head, he had had a conversation with this man, but he couldn't grasp the situation. His focus wasn't with him, he felt light headed, and the room was growing darker.

* * *

Alfred groggily woke up in a bed, his feet were free this time, but his hands had been bound at the wrist with leather straps. He didn't have any of his old strength left, so busting out was out of the question. It wasn't like he could do anything anyway, he was on a cocktail of drugs that made his stomach feel funny and his head float in another world. He felt a cold tube on his lips. A feeding tube. His captors had shoved a feeding tube up his nose. At least he was being fed, though he was sure the "food" was taking part in keeping him drugged up. That, and the multiple IVs he was hooked up to. He heard his heartbeat on a monitor near him. Without his glasses, it was hard to see the numbers on the screen, or much detail of anything.

After what Alfred had assumed to be a day in the infirmary, someone came in and put a face mask over his nose and mouth. He tried to struggle against it, but whatever they were using to knock him out was working faster than he could react.

Alfred woke up in the same interrogation room they had thrown him in before, connected to a single IV. He was sitting at the same table, with the same man sitting across from him, he assumed, anyway. This time there was a few files on the table, a briefcase, and a glass of water. The man opened the file and slid a paper across the desk in front of Alfred.

"What does this mean." The man said.

"I don't know, I can't read it."

"You don't know how to read or somethin'?"

"No," Alfred started, "I can't see it, not without my glasses."

The man took in a deep breath and sighed, "What's your prescription, we'll see if we have any in lockup we can let you use."

"No, you don't understand," Alfred was beginning to panic at this point. His glasses couldn't be broken my human hands, but they could be broken by a strong enough human machine, "Only my glasses work for me. They _are_ me. Do you not know who I am?"

"You're important to our cause." The man responded, he looked into a one way mirror next to them and gave a hand signal.

"But who am I." Alfred pressed.

"Alfred F. Jones."

"But _who_ is Alfred F. Jones?! I'll tell you who, the god damn United States of America! I am your country! Bring me my glasses, or better yet, release me!" Alfred screamed, he struggled against his restraints. As soon as the man saw this he jumped into action, opening the briefcase and taking out a syringe. He tapped the bubbles out if it walked over to Alfred's IV, and administered the drug.

As soon as the drug hit Alfred's bloodstream, pure euphoria washed over him. He took in a sharp breath in surprise. A ragged exhale followed as his entire body relaxed and his head slumped back. All his brain could do was enjoy the high. Somewhere deep inside him the fight or flight instinct was still active, but he was powerless against the drug. Somewhere in the middle of his ethereal vacation, consciousness left him.

* * *

Alfred slowly woke up from his break from reality. He straightened his body as best as he could, trying to focus on what was around him. The effects of the drug still lingered, dulling any pain that would have bothered Alfred in the slightest.

"Here." A woman said. She his glasses on his face, "I'm sorry they were broken."

Alfred examined the damage of his glasses the best he could. The right lense had a massive crack that split it diagonally. The left lense had a chunk of glass missing from the top left corner. Alfred was lucky his glasses weren't like the common ones found at CVS, or his lenses would have popped out ages ago. If he ever sees Arthur again he'll have to thank him for binding the two pieces together. One of the nose pads was missing, making them susceptible to slipping off, and the bridge had been repaired with a thin strip of duct tape.

He got a good look at the person in front of him. She was an older woman, her brown hair was pulled up in a loose ponytail. It was greying at the roots, but no attempts had been made to stop the natural process. There was a motherly air about her. She wasn't dressed like a business woman, in fact, she was wearing a sweater and jeans. Her skin was a soothing caramel color, and when he reached over and grabbed his hand in hers, it was soft to the touch.

"You can call me Momma."


	2. Euphoria

Another high for information on whatever his captors asked. After a few months it seemed like a fair trade off. His kidnappers were kind enough to let him live in their compound. Although he never saw the sun, he felt lucky. His government had forgotten about him in a basement. Here, after months of tests and trust building, he was allowed to walk about without being tied up. Whenever he got sick, they took care of him with a single shot and a sense of relief. He didn't care that he was tired, or that it was hard to walk, or that he was thinner than he had ever been. Every so often the compound would feed him through a tube if he fainted, but he didn't care. For the first time in his life he had a momma. Momma. She was kind to him, she gave him hugs, she comforted him when he was sick.

It was a normal morning for him, he woke up, got dressed, cleaned up, and walked into the dining room to say hello to Momma. The dining room was just another cement room with a long table and a few chairs, but it was more than he ever had in his government cell, so he was lucky. She was sitting on one side of the table, drinking a coffee and examining some files Alfred had explained the other day. She was taking notes on a legal pad when he walked in.

"Good morning Momma!" Alfred did his best to cheer, but he was exhausted. He usually was in the mornings before his first shot of energy.

"Hello, sweetie, how are you today?" Momma asked, looking at him with caring eyes.

"A little itchy." Alfred admitted, slumping into a chair in front of her. He shivered when his hand made contact with the cold metal table. Despite all the layers he was wearing, he was as cold as ever. But hey, being a little cold is better than being locked in a cell.

"Let me help you, okay?" She asked, getting up and walking around the table. Her warm hands caringly rolled up his sleeve, exposing the underside of his arm. Thanks to his country's energy, any injuries the needles caused healed up within the day, so there were no marks from before. She took a strip of rubber out of her sweatshirt pocket and tied it tightly around his arm. Once his veins popped up, she administered the drug.

Itchy was their code word. It told someone he needed another high. He sucked in a sharp breath, and exhaled with a ragged one. The same drill, the same feeling, the same euphoria.

"Better?" She asked, running her hand through his hair.

"Better." Alfred breathed. He slumped in his chair and took deep breaths, enjoying the feeling for as long as it would last. Momma rolled down his sleeve and continued working.

"Do you need anything to eat today?" Momma asked. Alfred didn't respond. He sat there and continued his deep breathing. Momma reached across and held his hand. Alfred gave a weak squeeze in response to her touch.

"Alfred, honey." Momma spoke with care.

Alfred giggled and peeled open on eye, "Yeah?" he whispered on an exhale.

"Are you hungry?"

"Nah." he giggled. With his free hand he reached into his sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a worn box of cigarettes. He popped on in his mouth and used a cheap cigarette lighter to light it. He sucked in the smoke, using a full inhale to get as much as possible. As soon as he was satisfied with the relief the cig brought, he turned his head and blew the smoke away from Momma. The woman studied him and sighed.

"Let's get you something to eat, okay sweetie?"

"Okay, Momma." Alfred giggled. The woman got up and walked around behind him, grabbed the chair handles, and wheeled him out of the room.

* * *

Today was Alfred's day off. He woke up late, feeling exhausted, but not as much as he would be if it had been a regular day. He got dressed, cleaned up, and got ready for the day. He was going to treat himself today, and boy was he exited. Alfred hobbled over the the infirmary and leaned heavily on the counter. The young girl he had met the first day he was captured greeted him with a concerned expression. She had grown up a little since his first day here. Her growth reminded her how slow time passed for him.

"Good afternoon, Alfred, what can I get ya?"

"I wanna have some fun today~" Alfred cooed. The girl sighed and walked to the back of the room. She returned with a small unmarked box and slid it across the counter.

"This'll put you outta it for an eternity." She said. The hint of concern in her voice never left. She looked the nation in front of her up and down. No one, not even her knew his true identity, save for Momma and the one goon he told on the first day, but he hasn't seen him around since.

"Are you doing okay, man? You've gotten stick thin, and I didn't think you could get thinner from when we first picked you up." She looked at the ground and folded her arms. She shifted her weight nervously.

"I'll be fine dude, don't worry about it." Alfred said, plucking the box off the counter, "Besides, I have Momma takin' care of me."

Alfred hobbled back to his room and plopped himself down on the floor. He leaned on the metal headboard and examined his space for a minute. He had a sink, a little room where a toilet and shower stood, a desk with a lamp, and even a small thing of lockers. Six mini lockers stacked on top of each other were put in his room when he first arrived at the camp. Once Momma found out he didn't have any belongings she went out and got clothes for him, and even a little plant. Even if it was plastic, it made him feel like he was loved here.

Alfred rolled up his sleeve, exposing the underside of his arm yet again, but when he opened the box, he found a little bottle with two pills inside, a razor, and a small plastic tube that was probably salvaged from a broken IV setup. He got up and walked to his desk. Instead of sitting in the metal chair, he moved the desk up against his bed and sat there. He got to work chopping up the pills into two fine lines. Once he was satisfied he snorted up both of the with greed. Goosebumps riddled his skin, he fell back, leaning uncomfortably against the wall. That didn't last long, though, as soon as the visions started he fell onto his side, enjoying the slow increase of bullshit being presented to him. At some point during his trip he ended up spread out in the middle of his room, giggling at the shapes circling the room. He was really enjoying himself.

"Alfred!" A familiar male voice yelled at him. Alfred opened his eyes and saw Matthew, albeit swimming in colors.

"Hey dude." Alfred said, "Haven't seen you in a while."

"You're not seeing me, I'm in your brain."

"I know, I made you say that."

"You know they've got you around their finger right? They're using you do overthrow the government and destroy the country."

"Yea…."

"I know you you know this isn't right. Why haven't you left yet? Don't you want to ever see us again?"

"I do! I do! It's just…"

"What? The drugs? That's what's tieing you here?"

Alfred's anxiety rose. He did want to leave. Why hadn't he done it any sooner? If he doesn't leave soon he could fade without seeing anyone ever again. He needed to leave, he needed to leave, he needed to leave. He got up and tried to balance himself. The room warped and melted. He couldn't get a good sense of balance. He staggered everywhere for what seemed like forever until he was able to find a door. His heart pounded. His head had cleared up slightly, but he was still foggy. Colors that shouldn't exist help paint the scene in front of him. He had been spat out into an alleyway in the middle of a city. He had to concentrate. Where was he? Where was he? He was…. In Seattle. Seattle, Washington. A long way from home. He walked until he felt like he was far enough. People on the streets shot looks at him as he walked into an alleyway and collapsed up against a building. He needed to let these effects wear off him before he could do anything else.

Rain woke him up the next morning. His head pounded and his bones ached. Nevertheless, he got up, and started walking again.

He was itchy. Boy, was he itchy. He felt guilty. He had let himself believe his captors were his saviors. He let them make him their drugged puppet. He couldn't even remember what he had been telling them. When they kidnapped him, he had been so desperate for anything. He had been forgotten about, and what they gave him seemed like a blessing. The library of drugs he needed, the drugs he craved, that's what kept him there, that's what kept him from questioning them. He was shaking, he was nauseas. He needed _something_ to keep him going. He didn't have anything, though. He couldn't find anything. He didn't even know where to begin to look.

He racked his mind for something that might help him.

"Alfred, sweetie."

No.

No no no no no no no.

Alfred dared to look behind him. He saw a glimpse of the army Momma had taken with her. Give men in SWAT with riffles, and her. He began to run. He began to run as fast as he could. He was exhausted, he was thin, he hadn't eaten in days. It didn't take long for one of the men to tackle him to the ground. He struggled, he struggled with all his power. The man put his knee on the center of the nation's back and exposed his arm to Momma. She took out a syringe.

"Stop Momma!" Alfred yelled. He began to sob. He didn't want to go back, he wanted to go home. He wanted to see his family, his real family.

"Shhh. It'll be okay, I promise." She said, caressing his face as he lose consciousness.


	3. Punishment

"You've been bad, Alfred. I don't want to do this to you, but bad children have to be punished."

Alfred struggled against the chair he was bound against. His head had been tied back to the headrest, making it impossible to turn it and look around the room.

"I want to go home." Alfred told Momma. His hands shook in their restraints. Whatever Momma had used on him didn't give him the high he needed. He was sweating, probably running a fever, and his nausea was hard to ignore.

"You will Alfred, you will. But not after you've been punished." Momma said. She looked at him with caring eyes. She went around behind him and picked something up off a metal tray.

"What are you doing. Momma. Momma What are you doing!" Alfred screamed.

The woman walked up to Alfred and stabbed him in his lower back. He screamed out in pain. Hot tears ran down his cheeks as he writhed and wriggled in pain. He gasped for air, shock taking over his entire being. His body grew heavier and heavier with each moment. It became harder to breathe. He felt a hand caress his face. He shot a glare at the woman the hand belonged to. Momma stared back. Nothing but kindness swam in her eyes. She believed she was doing the right thing.

"I didn't want to do this to you, my son." She said, "But we can't have you running away now, can we?"

She stuck a needle into Alfred's arm. His pain mixed with euphoria making an feeling one could only describe as pure internal confusion. It helped his pain, but the sticky blood flowing out of his back and dripping to the floor was the reminder that kept him tied to reality. The drugs kept him in bliss, but his pain returned soon enough, and he screamed. He called out. He asked Momma to help him, he asked for mercy, he begged for forgiveness.

Besides, it was his fault. He was the one who doubted Momma. He was the one that ran away.


	4. Awake

Alfred woke up in his bed the next morning with a dull pain in his lower back.

Wait.

This was his bed.

In _his_ house.

He was home!

He smelled coffee being brewed in the kitchen. He also smelled… Bacon? He wasn't particularly hungry, but he did want to see who was cooking in his house. He threw the comforter off him and swung his legs over the the side of the bed. For some reason, hey felt heavier today. His feet touched the carpet. Nothing. He couldn't feel the carpet under his toes. He couldn't feel anything. Alfred started to panic. Thoughts rushed around in his head trying to make sense of the situation. He should have healed, good as new. Why hadn't he?

His nation.

His country was still battling a civil war, his government was still falling. His lifeline was being pulled thin. It was the only explanation. He tried to stand up, but as soon as he pushed off the bed he landed face first into the carpet. He propped himself on his elbows and looked around the room. It took him a few seconds to register that his glasses were on his bedside table. With shaking hands, he put them on. His heart pounded, filled with panic. His eyes settled in the corner of his room. There was a wheelchair, perfectly placed in plain sight, waiting for him. Momma knew this would happen. How much had he told her? He didn't know. He crawled his way over to the chair, dragging his body across the room. He was surprised at how weak he'd become. His arms screamed with every inch of effort put into them. Getting across the room was one battle, but he had no clue how he was going to pull himself up onto the chair. He turned it around and tried to figure out where the breaks on the wheels were. Once he found them, he made his way to the front of the chair. He took a break for a few seconds before pulling himself up onto the chair. It took a few tries, but eventually he was sitting comfortably in it. He undid the breaks and pushed himself into the bathroom.

He hadn't had a mirror in a year, and boy, did he not recognize the person staring back at him. He couldn't see his waist or legs before the counter, but what he could see was a clear indicator in itself. He was thin. People had told him he was thin in the compound all the time, but this was different. He'd never seen a nation so thin, and that was saying something, given Kiku was the thinnest country in the organization. But even then, Japan had muscle under his clothing. When Alfred raised his shirt, he saw ribs and a sunken stomach. It wasn't as bad as it probably could have been, sure, there was always worse. He looked at his face. It was nearly grey. Color was a myth compared to the coloring of Alfred's skin. He touched his face, he could feel his cheekbones underneath his skin, and the bags under his eyes were deep and purple. He understood why the girl at the infirmary looked at him the way she did. He looked dead. His hair had grown long over the year he had been gone. In the compound he didn't mind it, but now, seeing it paired with his tired, glossy eyes and pale skin, he wanted it gone. He racked his mind, asking it where he kept a pair of clippers. He checked drawer after drawer until he found them. Once he collected what he needed, he went to work.

He had found a comb and rubber band in one of his drawers. Everything was lined with dust. Seeing his stuff abandoned, covered in time; it left a rotten taste in his mouth.

He tied his hair as close to his nape as possible and turned on the razor. He didn't know why he kept it around, he never could grow a beard anyway. Once he had cut clean through, he tossed the ponytail in the trash. He changed the face on the clippers to allow him to clip his hair without making it too short. He went to work, Running the clippers through his hair until he felt like he had done the best he could. With one last brush through with a different face, he examined his work. It wasn't like before, but it was close enough. He brushed all the hair off him and the chair and undressed. He lowered himself the the floor of the bathroom and climbed in the shower. Luckily, his shower was set up to be able to fill up like a bathtub if need be, which meant the controls were there the bathtub spigot jutted out of the wall. He thanked his past self for leaving a shampoo bottle on the floor, and got to work.

After he was done with his routine, which took three times as long and four times the amount of energy, he looked around his room for any electronics. All of them had been removed from his room. Everything that could have connected him to the outside world- gone. He was a prisoner in his own home. Drowsiness and exhaustion plagued his entire being. He no longer smelled food in his kitchen, nor did he hear movement. Cautiously, he opened his bedroom door. He was lucky he lived in a single room apartment. His bedroom lead him immediately into the living room. He looked to his left and into the kitchen. There she was, sitting at his small kitchen table, working like nothing happened. She looked up from her work and smiled.

"Have you slept well?"

"Momma-"

"Shhh, child." Momma interrupted. She walked over to him and caressed his face. She lifted his sleeve and following their routine, administering today's euphoria. Alfred didn't think to stop her. He needed it. He needed it to live, he needed it to feel good, he needed it more than his freedom. He relaxed in his chair, letting himself slouch. Momma pushed him to the table, sitting him across from her. Despite everything she's done. He couldn't find it inside himself to be mad at her. He was thankful.

"Are you in pain?" She asked, taking a sip of her coffee. She waited patiently for his answer. After a few deep breaths Alfred found it inside himself to answer.

"No… why is that, Momma.." He asked in a hushed tone.

"You've been asleep for a long time, Alfred. I wanted you to heal without pain."

Alfred was thankful to have a mother like her in his life. Even though he broke the rules and ran away. And even though she punished him for it, she made sure he didn't suffer through the pain.

"I'm sorry," She started, "I'm sorry I did that to you, but you have to understand, honey, for our cause to work we need you here. We need to keep you safe. Remember how you were forgotten? We don't want that to happen to you again."

Alfred nodded, but he wasn't particularly listening. He was just trying to enjoy his high.

* * *

"Alfred." Momma said, tracing his eyebrow with her thumb, "Wake up."

Alfred stirred in his sleep. After his first high of the day, he had decided to take a nap on the couch. He peeled his eyes open and stared at Momma. He had been living in his own home for a few months now, preparing for the big day. He was going to a world meeting for the first time in what seemed like forever. It was, really. It had been well over a year since the revolution started, and in that time, Alfred felt himself get increasingly weaker, falling from what he had been more and more every day. Momma had helped him gain weight, though he was never hungry, he ate at least two meals a day. On days where he wasn't feeling well, Momma wouldn't make him eat more than one, though. He still looked disturbingly thin, and paired with how sickly he had become, his only escape from pain was drugs. Momma had told him where they were kept, so that he could relieve himself whenever he needed, but she always kept a close eye on him. It took months to build back the trust, and she had to force dependency on him more now than ever. He was traveling alone to France for the meeting, and she couldn't risk everything by going with him.

Once Alfred woke up, she waited patiently for him to transfer himself into his wheelchair. She took him into the kitchen and fixed him a bowl of oatmeal, one of the few things he could stomach. They talked about the mission to France, which was approaching faster and faster by the day. He'd be taking a small plane that belonged to the resistance over to an allied base in the countryside. There was no worry about security there, so he wouldn't have to worry about running out of drugs, or having them being taken away from him. From there he would take a cab into the city and check into his hotel a block away from the conference hall. The do not disturb was to remain on the door at all times, and the only communication allowed is through the cell phone being given to him before the trip.

He knew what this trip might mean. He knew that me might not come back, he knew he had already given all the information he could. But this is something he needed to do, for Momma.

* * *

 **If y'all like this fic please be sure to leave a review! They really encourage writer's to keep writing! And I'm not talking about the 'pls write more'/'u shuld continue' I'm talking about the real reviews!**


End file.
